Page 4 of Bonus Daddy
In the twenty minutes I’d been in her company, so many memories and emotions had come back. The calm that washed over me when she was close. The joy I felt when we carried on a conversation.
She’d once had the innate ability to make even the most mundane things joyful, and already, it was clear to me she still did.
“Will probably mentioned how difficult cases like this are to win. Especially if your ex-husband is actively opposing the move.” I scanned the papers she’d handed me. “And because he’s represented by Burns and Glenn.” They were among the most elite and expensive firms in Manhattan. We did pretty well for ourselves, but those jerks lit their celebratory cigars with hundred-dollar bills.
“Will thought it was doable, especially since my ex has moved out of state,” she hedged. “And my prior firm spent months working on this.” She pushed another folder at me.
I flipped this one open, impressed with how organized she was, even if I gritted my teeth knowing Will Fucking Higgins had probably gleefully taken this woman’s money, then dragged his feet. I hated that fucker, and it didn’t look like he’d done anything substantive.
“New Jersey is notorious for this,” I explained. “Even if he’s moved, the legal system will still want the child support payments flowing through the state.”
Her lips tipped down. “That’s so unfair.”
“It’s how things work here.” I smoothed out the corner of one page. “But in this county, there is a chance. And his disinterest in seeing your children during his allotted visitation will work in your favor.” I flipped to the next document and scanned it quickly. “We need to show you have a plan in place. A home for the kids, school choices, and sufficient income to support them.”
She nodded. “He’s only fighting to mess with me. He gets some sick satisfaction out of knowing that I’m stuck here, away from my family, miserable, while he’s off gallivanting with his twenty-six-year-old fiancée in Palm Beach.”
I knew nothing about the asshole she’d married. We’d lost touch after college, when life had thrown us curveballs and we’d gone our separate ways. But from the multi-year divorce battle and this bullshit, I knew in my bones he was nowhere near worthy of her.
“What does your ex do for a living?”
“He’s a principal at Excel Enterprise Capital. He’s obsessed withhis job, his watch collection, and his boat,” she said, her voice shaking with underlying rage. “His kids don’t even make the top ten on his list of priorities.”
I figured the guy was rich when I discovered who represented him, but this confirmed it. The asshole was loaded. I flipped through the pages, looking at the marital settlement agreement. The child support was adequate, but given his income, she could have easily gotten more, and honestly, she should have.
“No alimony?” I asked, looking up again.
She shook her head. “I waived it.”
It took all the strength I had to school my features. Never in a million years would I have let her do that if she’d been my client from the beginning.
“Okay.” I scratched at my beard. “In our petition, we need to make it clear that you have the means to provide for the children in Vermont. Home, job, schools, social support. Is that feasible?”
“Yes. I’m a social worker,” she explained.
“Oh, sorry.” I sat straighter. “I thought you taught yoga.”
“I do.” Her face lit up. “That’s my second job. But I have a master’s in social work and have been at Brooklyn hospital for the last few years. I’ve already filed the paperwork to have my social work license transferred to Vermont and have put feelers out. There aren’t a ton of job prospects, but I’ve got a few leads, and the owner of the yoga studio in my hometown is willing to let me take on a few classes if I need the income.”
Pen in hand, I tapped the glossy surface of my desk. “And a home for the kids?”
“My brother took over the farm. He lives in my parents’ house and insists the girls and I move into a cottage on the property. It used to be a rental, but when the last tenants moved out, he kept it vacant with the hope that this would work out for us.”
“Schools?” I asked, scribbling notes again.
“Maplewood has award-winning schools,” she explained.
Ah, that was it.Maplewood. I’d forgotten that her hometown had a funny name.
“As soon as my motion is granted, I’ll get them enrolled.”
I put my pen down and studied her. Her expression was hopeful, though she fidgeted a little, like she was keyed up. Her nails were short and bare, like maybe she still bit them when she was nervous.
She should be nervous, unfortunately. These cases were pains in the ass, and depending on the judge, this could be a total nightmare.
But I’d always been a sucker for an underdog. And as we silently surveyed one another, all I could think about was making her happy.
I wanted it.
